


Erelong, My Dearest

by grimsgay



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Basically that fic where they're starcrossed lovers..., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22415197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimsgay/pseuds/grimsgay
Summary: Ardyn knows these dalliances will have to stop. He is royal, his fate permanently dyed by the blood in his veins. Someday, Ardyn will ascend the throne and then he will marry. Gilgamesh will be placed at his side - as a protector, not an equal. Ardyn may grasp at forbidden fruit, but it is still fruit; it must be consumed before it sours and rots.“My dearest Gilgamesh, I fear I have forgotten how to breathe. Perhaps a reminder is in order.”*****Written for the GilgArdyn zine!
Relationships: Gilgamesh (Final Fantasy XV)/Ardyn Izunia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Erelong, My Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to finally be able to share this!!! It's one of my favorite FFXV pieces I've done, and it's been so hard keeping quiet... I really hope it's enjoyable!
> 
> It was an honor getting to work with so many talented people for this zine! Thank you so much to Sho for organizing~

Ardyn is beloved. Gilgamesh whispers this to him behind closed doors, as gentle fingers caress fluid hair. Ardyn is grateful for this isolated moment, tucked away from prying eyes and the threat of discovery. For once, he is able to laze about his lover’s arms, lips affectionately sweeping across his brow. ****

“My beloved,” Gilgamesh murmurs once more, and for a time, Ardyn loses himself to the intimacy. He is not the gifted healer of an entire kingdom, nor is he touched by gods. He is not the elegant, charming, and respectable personality he is expected to embody. He is just Ardyn, and for the moment, he may release himself of all concerns. ****

Gilgamesh provides a perfect and picturesque scene, his posture delicate and relaxed and such a treat on Ardyn’s eyes - and yet just as easily, he takes the fantasy away. ****

“You’re tense,” Gilgamesh eventually sighs out. “You ought to slow down a little.” ****

This is the reality that catches up to them both, time and time again. ****

They both know that he cannot, that there is much to be done and nary enough time. Ardyn does not like admitting how he yearns for normalcy - to cast off his royal duty and to find peace in his lover’s arms. He need not speak it; his lover can read him. They have always been this way and it is both a blessing and a curse. ****

So he deflects. “My dearest Gilgamesh, are I not slowing down now, with you?” 

There is a grumble, and their bodies shift against the bed, but Gilgamesh does not push it further. For this, Ardyn is grateful. He is melting, he knows, but Gilgamesh, for all his strength and bravado, is melting with him.

***** ****

“...On this day, under the blessing of The Six, we gather to witness a divine joining; of king and of protector...” ****

Ardyn pays the ceremony no mind. He’s rarely taken genuine interest in modern politics - though today, distraction leads his poor focus more than disinterest ever could. It is rather difficult to listen to monotonous drabble when the subject of his desires stands tall before him. Ardyn is mesmerized by tanned skin and long, pale braids. ‘Tis distracting indeed. ****

“Do you swear, under divine oath, to protect and honor this man, His Royal Highness Ardyn Lucis Caelum, through all costs, physical, mental, and divine, as long as you may live?” ****

Their eyes meet, then, as Gilgamesh kneels and something powerful sparks between them. “No matter the cost, I will keep you safe,” Gilgamesh says, and Ardyn yet again melts. ****

He licks his lips, pupils dilated and focus drifting, replaced by desire. He wants to touch, but he refrains. (That will come later. Patience.) 

He does not notice when the room clears, when his legs carry him elsewhere, nor when his tasks shift. He is still stuck, body and mind alive with fire as he recalls how Gilgamesh’s lips moved as he took his vows. ****

My dearest Gilgamesh…

He does not notice that he says this aloud. 

There is a voice somewhere - soft and elegant, like his mother’s had been - that he’s certain he should listen to. His mind, however, is still besotted with silver hair, his fingers stuck tracing the pattern of his new Shield’s crest. 

It is difficult to differentiate dreams from reality when he has spent so many years fantasizing of this day. That Gilgamesh is now his partner in arms is a wonderful and joyous moment, yet he lacks time to celebrate. ****

He’s stuck with politics.

“Did you hear a single word, Your Highness?” ****

Ahh. Ardyn snaps to the present abruptly, a thin frown etched in his features. “My apologies, I appear to be a bit out of sorts. Might we continue this conversation at a later date?” ****

“Yes, fine. Go find Gilgamesh, he’ll set you right.” ****

Oh, if only she knew. 

*****

Ardyn finds his Shield in the library, as he has dozens of occasions prior, face tucked elegantly into the fold of an aged book. Gilgamesh is not a scholar, he merely masquerades as one. He is eloquent enough, Ardyn knows, as he too has received some degree of noble tutelage; though Gilgamesh–for all his wit, cunning, and tactical prowess–does not dedicate hours to the nuances of politics. ****

Nay, Gilgamesh prefers an intriguing story. ****

Ardyn peaks around the edge of a bookshelf, lips pursed in amusement. “My dearest Gilgamesh,” he purrs. “Are you reading romance? Oh my, what would your adoring fans say, if they knew the big, strong, swordsman had a heart filled with flowers?” ****

Gilgamesh glances upwards, posture loosening, and regards him with an accusatory smirk. “I wonder too, what might be said - and especially, what assumptions this particular fan may make,” he murmurs. “Just what does my most reverent fan think?” ****

“He finds you enthralling- though your choice in literature, perhaps, a bit bland. Childish.” ****

Brows raise, their hands entwine together, and Ardyn steps closer. ****

Gilgamesh sighs against him. “Do you ever wonder at our lives? What they might be, if not for our roles and responsibilities?” ****

This makes Ardyn’s muscles tense. He has certainly had considerations. It would be a lie to deny the question outright. There have been fantasies of a life without politics; one where he might be liberated to love who he may choose (to love Gilgamesh without consequence). He’s longed to walk through the markets anonymously, arms interlocked with his Shield. He’s longed to introduce him to strangers—not as a member of his royal staff, but as a friend, an ally, and a lover. ****

“I have. It is foolish to do so, and yet I…” He cannot finish the thought. ****

Ardyn knows these dalliances will have to stop. He is royal, his fate permanently dyed by the blood in his veins. Someday, Ardyn will ascend the throne and then he will marry. Gilgamesh will be placed at his side - as a protector, not an equal. Ardyn may grasp at forbidden fruit, but it is still fruit; it must be consumed before it sours and rots. ****

“My dearest Gilgamesh, I fear I have forgotten how to breathe. Perhaps a reminder is in order.” ****

Gilgamesh does kiss him, deeper and more desperately than ever before. For a moment, they forget. ****

***** ****

Ardyn is not there when the first tendrils of shadow sneak beneath Gilgamesh’s skin, but he returns as soon as he receives news. ****

Gilgamesh is silent and rigid, save for a few soft whimpers and the occasional twitch. There is little life lingering in his complexion; the murky and phantasmal fingers of scourge already thoroughly consume him. He cracks his eyes, sees Ardyn, and huffs. Ardyn knows that he still fights; though weakened, his lover remains strong in spirit, and this blight is as much a mental affliction as it is a physical one. ****

Ardyn runs calloused, shaking fingers through sweat-damp hair, feeling as much anxiety as Gilgamesh must feel pain. He is experienced, has played the healer’s role hundreds - nay, thousands - of times over. He has drawn the scourge from mortal blood and welcomed it into his own body as a new host. He has dispelled of its toxins and its curse through his own constitution, and has witnessed recovery in even the most unlikely of circumstances. ****

Yet, standing above his lover, he cannot stop the maelstrom of frightened thoughts. He is abruptly surrounded by the miserable faces of each life the scourge has claimed. There are daemons peering over him, absent of all human features, but he can see in their eyes what they once were - what he could not save. ****

What if he fails? Oh, wouldn’t that be such cruel and vicious mockery - that the gods gave him healing hands, but refused to save the one man dearest to him. ****

A whine from Gilgamesh grounds him in reality. There is a hand, unsteady and weak, gently brushing his cheek, and oh gods, he had not been aware of his tears. What a foolish spot to be in... ****

“Shh, shhhh… hush my dearest Gilgamesh, save your strength.” These words he speaks are more for his own benefit—a desperate attempt to anchor himself so he is not pulled to sea by his despair. ****

Ardyn lays Gilgamesh’s hand back down at his side and presses his own to scourge-touched skin. He concentrates, feels around beneath his veins, and reaches out. ‘Tis still easy to grasp the infection, to tug and pull it until all the roots return to him. There is a disconnect - a skipped heartbeat - and the scourge floods painfully out of Gilgamesh and into a new, royal host.

It is agonizing, it always is, but he grits his teeth and stands tall and proud. ****

Gilgamesh comes to moments later and Ardyn collapses against him. Ardyn’s breathing is sporadic, muscles twitching and eyes manic, but his lover is alive. Ardyn can no longer hold back the sobs that push at his fragile composure; he’s breaking, falling through the dark, lost in his head. ****

Gilgamesh holds him close and perhaps, for a moment, it helps. Yet, Ardyn is a changed man. He has seen unimaginable horrors in his war with the scourge, and though he has conquered them every time, absolutely nothing will ever compare to this terror. ****

(He will lose Gilgamesh someday, he knows this. He cannot cling to false fairytales for eternity, but he is not prepared, and doubts he ever will be. The day he loses his Shield for good is the day he will scorn the gods, and nothing will tear him away from furious retribution. ****

This is not that day - not yet - but he considers it.) **  
**

*****

“You will be married, someday.” ****

“I will. Likely soon.” ****

These words, though always unspoken, have always lingered behind twilight. They are a dark wind, a memory that their time together grows short. Ardyn is nothing if not stubborn, and he has thus far refused to face this daunting truth that plagues them more than the scourge ever shall. But it is a reality they face now. Gilgamesh has broached the subject, and Ardyn will not ignore him. Ardyn could never ignore him, he lacks the desire.

“Not to me.”

“It is indeed unlikely we will wed.” 

Gilgamesh shifts where he stands and pulls a sheath from his belt. Ardyn had not paid it any mind prior, but now, as his Shield reveals the blade, Ardyn notices that it is not his usual weapon. This one is much smaller, suitable for one with a more average frame, and while sharp, it is far too ornate to merit regular combat use. It is not a warrior’s sword, but rather a ceremonial item. Ardyn stares. ****

Gilgamesh presents the blade and Ardyn accepts, fingers clutching at polished steel. “So that I may always be at your side, even when I am not,” he says. ****

Ardyn chokes. “I- thank you- It is beautiful… my dearest Gilgamesh, I will treasure this, always.”

He does not say much else, for there is not much else to say. ****

(Later - much later - Ardyn will be stripped bare of all lingering humanity. This sword he now wields will be taken from him, as will his crown, his home, his family, and his lover. This sword will be the final edge that damns him to eternal agony. Gilgamesh himself will put it there, and Ardyn will curse his name more than any will ever curse him.)

But for now, the lovers remain oblivious. They may embrace without the pressure of destiny, unaware that this may be their last goodbye.


End file.
